Auld Lang Syne
by YIWT
Summary: A few one-shots from the Rehabilitation universe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Takes place a few years after the end of Family. (If you've read at least Rehabilitation you're probably okay for understanding this. If you haven't, and for some reason you still want to give this story a shot, there's a character in here you won't recognize. He works in a dungeon, where Loki was sent to be tortured because Odin was having trust issues after the end of the movie.).**

* * *

It was New Year's Eve, and Odin was having a party.

He didn't do it often – once every hundred years or so. It was too big an affair to plan and organize in just one year, and it took far too long to clean up. The whole city sparkled, the palace was decorated in fire and ice and gold, with champagne fountains and edible chocolate sculptures and music and dancing and sparkles and lights.

Loki _hated _these parties, because he was expected to make nice to Very Important Persons from different realms and different kingdoms – which meant he had to sit down in advance and learn all their names, and their wives' names, and something clever to say to each of them. The studying alone could take months.

This time, though, when Odin handed him a stack of RSVPs he first _pulled one out,_ with a frown, and Loki got suspicious. "Who's that?" he said.

"Not someone I would ask you to entertain," Odin answered shortly, and tore the card in half. "It doesn't matter; it's a large party, you can likely avoid one another entirely."

"Oh." Loki didn't ask any more questions – he didn't need to. He had been sent on diplomatic missions to _everywhere, _to meet _everyone,_ and he could think of only one group of people Odin _would not ask_ him to entertain. "I've never noticed them at your parties before," he said coolly. Why had the dungeon's denizens been invited this time? Because they had done such a good job with Odin's _delicate _assignment? The idea was disgusting.

Odin made a face. "I have always invited them. Until now they have always had the good sense to decline." He shook his head. "I cannot imagine why they think they are any more welcome now than usual. They must know how unpleasant I find their work."

_Of course. Because everything is always about __**you**__. _But Loki showed nothing but a mildly sarcastic smile, and swept into a bow. "Father, you need not worry. I promise I'll treat them no worse than I treat any of your other guests."

Perhaps remembering the last party, after which Loki had been confined to a tower on bread and water for an entire season while he wrote apology letters, Odin snorted. "If that is meant to reassure me..."

"Honestly – it's been years. Don't worry," Loki said again, allowing his smile to warm a little, and Odin was suitably reassured.

The Liesmith was getting better and better at his craft.

* * *

Loki made nice to party guests halfheartedly for the first few hours. (Drinking all the while.) He scanned the crowds constantly, his ears primed for those voices he remembered so well, because it was better to spot them first than to be caught by surprise.

He knew exactly who he was looking for. The Drones had probably been issued a pair of invitations, like all minor kingdoms with whom Odin had some business relationship, and though he had no idea who one attendee might be, Loki was willing to bet a great deal that the other was Drone Three. _Good to see you, Loki, _and _you still have suds in your hair._ The creature seemed to _like _him. And why would he not? Surely most of the spies and criminals he had charge of were not nearly so interesting as the God of Mischief. Surely few of them were so civil and so well-behaved.

It was going on midnight when he caught sight of someone, from behind, of about the right build and color. But the guest wore a decorative headpiece, and sparkling dress robes, and if there were boots they were hidden under the hem. Loki frowned and came a little closer, until he could hear it talking.

Drone Three – for it _was – _was entertaining an Elvish couple with some story about a failed attempt to cook Elvish food over a Midgard stove. They were giggling and adoring, which made Loki oddly annoyed, and he decided to interrupt.

He sidled closer, but then realized he had no name to call. "Ah... Ahem. Excuse me."

A hitch in Three's gesturing said that he had heard. After a moment he turned, smiling already. "Prince Loki!" With a perfectly correct, polite little bow. "I was hoping I would see you."

"Ah, yes." Loki returned the bow, and the smile, and raised his delicate champagne flute to sketch a toast. "It has been... some time."

"It has. It has indeed." Something in the angling of his body, the intensity of his stare, let his audience know that his attention was elsewhere now – and not returning. The woman touched his arm, the couple bid him farewell, and he returned the pleasantry without turning to look at them. His eyes flickered to the circlet on Loki's brow – not quite a crown, but clearly a sign of status. "You're looking well, Loki. Healthy and proud. I'm glad for you."

"Mm." Loki could feel people's attention – the rejected couple and a few other people besides. And Heimdall, of course, whose eyes missed nothing. Suddenly it felt very important to perform for them a little – not to be meek or docile. "And you: so popular! I caught a bit of you chatting with the elves a moment ago; I had no _idea_ you were such a charmer." He dripped sarcasm.

Three ignored the tone. "Oh, I've been known to make friends in all _sorts_ of places." He quirked an eyebrow, and then took a long slow sip of his drink.

Loki couldn't let that smugness slide. "You presume too much," he said, suddenly cold.

The Drone _should _have been falling all over himself to apologize, having offended a Prince in his own hall. Instead he just shrugged and flashed a theatrical pout. "Not friends? Tell me what we should call each other then. Surely I don't still haunt your nightmares?"

"I'm not afraid of you – I never was," Loki shot back. And then regretted it immediately, because it sounded like childish bravado... because it_was._ But it was too late to back down now, so the least he could do was press on and live up to it. "Watch: I want you to ask me something, right now," he challenged. "Anything. You can't scare me."

Three heaved a sigh. "I don't _want _to scare you. But why bait me? You know I can trip you up if I try."

Suddenly it felt very important to know whether that was true. "Then try," he insisted. "I call you out." He hadn't had a serious episode of panic in months, even when he tested himself by remembering _things_ or by sitting with his wrists bound.

Three tried a different tack. "Come on, Prince, this is hardly appropriate. Are you in the habit of issuing challenges to your father's party guests?"

"Actually I am, but that is not the point." Loki consciously relaxed his grip on his champagne flute because he realized he was very near to crushing it. He lowered his voice. "I mean no insult – consider it a challenge posed to _me_, if anyone. I would just like to know whether you can still freeze me up with a question. Any question. I want to find out."

Three rolled his eyes. "Fine. Listen to me and answer with honesty." The tone had shifted smoothly towards the cool distant drone Loki remembered, and he felt his heart stutter and breath catch, as he grew _ready, _physically ready to think fast and avoid disaster. "Would you rather do battle against one hundred duck-sized horses, or one horse-sized duck?"

Loki went blank.

"Well?"

He tried to process the words, couldn't, choked for a moment. He was trying to envision... a_ horse-sized duck? _"I-I don't... _What_?" he managed.

The Drone reached out and closed a hand on Loki's upper arm a moment – a friendly gesture, it must look to everyone else, but there was power in the grip and Loki shivered under it. "Not an answer, Loki."

"I- but-..." Loki shook his head, trying to dissipate his sense of unease. He checked that he was breathing, he tried to remember that he was safe at Odin's party and this was only a test. He made himself laugh. "One hundred...? _Really_?"

"It's a good question," Three defended, tone light again, and drained his glass. "It will focus the attention of someone who's wandering, and it gives insight into his state of mind."

"Does it." His thoughts were flowing properly again now, so Loki considered. "I'd prefer a horse-sized duck," he decided at last. "Killing a lot of little furry things isn't very impressive, but the giant duck would make one hell of a trophy; even Thor would agree. We could put the head up on the wall by all his bilgesnipes and bears and what-have-you." He squared up. "Now: what does that say about my thinking? Explain it."

"Ooh, inquisitive little Loki wants some inside information. All right." Three allowed a passing servant to exchange his empty glass for a full one. "Two or three more of these and lords know what I'll be telling you," he laughed. "In a nutshell: it's good that you immediately envisioned slaughtering the creatures instead of thinking seriously about whether one might pose a threat to you. That's confidence. But I'm less happy that your first thought was for impressiveness and Thor's trophy wall, instead of for yourself. That's thinking I'd hoped you would grow out of."

Loki finished his own drink, to steal a moment for thought. Two could play at this game. "I see you analyzed that from the perspective of someone concerned for my well-being," he said, "Instead of noting how you could use it to break me." He put a hand over his heart and turned syrupy sweet. "Consider me touched."

Three laughed. "And consider _me_ impressed – you are quick as ever." A servant appeared with more champagne. Loki was standing with arms crossed and didn't take one; Three did and offered it to him with a deep bow. He stayed, waiting, until Loki took the glass and gestured for him to straighten. "In all seriousness I would be honored if you would call me _friend,_" he said. Then shrugged. "But if you won't, I'll still like you."

Loki looked him over, and there was nothing mocking in his manner now. "Very well: tonight, temporarily and provisionally, because I am drunk and because most of the party bores me, you can be my friend," he declared. "We'll see how I feel about it in the morning."

"Excellent. Your health." They clinked glasses, and Loki didn't dwell on the absurdity of the toast. "Happy new year, Loki."

"Happy new year."

* * *

The End.

Let me know what you think!

And, happy holidays everybody!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Takes place some time after the last ficlet.**

* * *

There was a Drone in the waiting room that Loki had never seen before. "Can I help you?"

Loki hesitated. "I'm... looking for someone."

"Staff or subject?"

"Staff. I don't know his name."

The Drone shrugged. "You wouldn't. What's _your _name?"

"Mine? I am Loki, of Asgard." He drew himself up a little as he said it. "The one I'm looking for has worked here at least ten years, and attended Asgard's last New Years party. He's about your height, but a little-"

"Your name is enough." The Drone brushed its hand over the wall and a grate hissed into view. A communication device? It spoke into it. "I need the contact for a _Loki of Asgard_, please." After a moment of silence, the speaker crackled and a discordant chattering issued forth.

The Drone frowned. "Oh." It turned to Loki. "Your contact's a Director now."

"Excuse me? What does that mean?"

"It means he doesn't interact with subjects or clients directly. Directors pass their files on to more junior staff, but for some reason in your case he hasn't done so. We're speaking to him right now and he'll assign someone. Have a seat – someone will be with you shortly."

Loki sat. Serenely. He and Drone Three had gotten drunk together; surely that would entitle him to a face-to-face meeting no matter how important the creature was now.

Before long the door hissed open and Loki surged to his feet. Habit; the sound still made his heart beat a little faster.

"Loki! Good morning!" There was real pleasure in the voice, and even though Three was in his work outfit Loki made himself smile back and shake hands.

"And you – whose name I still don't know!" he enthused, teasing. "Good morning to you as well."

The greeter Drone was looking extremely impressed by all this – clearly Drone Three had become somebody very important. Loki gave a bow. "_Director_ now, I hear? Congratulations. You're looking... er..." _Imposing?_ Would that be an insult?

Three narrowed his eyes. "You're hunting for a polite way to say I've gotten fat, aren't you."

It was only a matter of time before the Drone found a way to remind him that it had once broken him open and rifled through his mind like a messy cupboard. Might as well beat it to the punch, no?

"Oooh." Loki gave an overblown sympathetic wince. "Lost your touch? I'm afraid I was thinking nothing of the kind."

Three made a face. "Yes of course, Loki, feel free to twist the knife."

Loki cocked his head.

He sighed and explained: "I likely _have _lost my touch, to some degree at least. I don't get to do fieldwork any more. But of course, I'm happy to serve however I am needed," he added primly. Then shrugged. "Oh, well. It's only a matter of time before I break some rule significant enough to get thrown back to the front lines."

The Drone _wanted _to be back in the dungeons. Loki tried not to feel uneasy. "Ah, I see. Well, if your superiors take a dim view of stealing equipment, I might be able to help you with that." He took out his binding rod to show. "I came here because this is broken. Or perhaps its power has simply depleted? I've had no luck with the mechanics or sorcerers of Asgard, so I was wondering if you could help. Fix it, recharge it, give me a new one?"

Three whistled softly as he took the device and examined it. "_This?_ Goodness, this is... old," he said, clicking it a few times.

"Your people gave it to me when-... when I left here. It was for splinting."

"Mm." Three's deadpan was perfect. "And those poor shoulders still can't bear weight after all this time. What a shame."

Loki opened his mouth and closed it. It hadn't even been a _question_... but still, somehow, he felt a little nervous not answering it. Certainly much too nervous to lie. "I've been using the thing to annoy people," he admitted. "As well as to bind myself, sometimes, to test my nerves. Well..." He hadn't done that in a while, actually, so he frowned and revised himself. "These days, mostly to annoy people."

"Well." Three nodded and gestured the doors open. "We wouldn't want you unable to annoy people, would we? Please: this way." He paused. "You _are_ comfortable going downstairs now, are you not?"

_Downstairs. _The euphemisms just got better and better. "As long as you have no plans to do something terrifying, I am fine."

"You wound me." With a hand over his heart. Three gestured Loki through the doors and led him down the hall.

* * *

Loki's mouth was a little dry, but he was all right. Conversation would probably help, so he asked: "Where are we going – an equipment room? I suppose you must have them."

"We do. But that's not where we are going; we're going to go get you a... floor model. It's not permitted to give these away," he explained. "It can be hard to account for something vanishing from an equipment room, but no one will notice it gone from a dungeon. Things get damaged or lost during sessions all the time."

"Ah."

Eventually Three stopped in front of a wide door. "This one's fine. No cameras; we can rob it with impunity. Coming in?"

Loki shook his head at first, but once the door was open and the torture chamber fully lit, and the Drone was calling small-talk to him from inside, he felt too ridiculous and at last managed to step over the threshold.

He held his breath and waited for terror, but terror didn't come. Three was rummaging in a closet and in the meantime Loki walked around the room slowly, touching some of the equipment he recognized.

He pulled out a drawer under a counter and it was full of little jars. Someone had labeled them, in handwriting. _ITCH. BURN. EXTRA BURN. OH MOMMY._ He chuckled, and somehow – barely – resisted the urge to open one up and see what it was.

But when he went to close the drawer there was a heavy metallic _clunk_ at the back. Suddenly the jars were not nearly so funny; when he reached back in and felt around... yes, it was a pear. His grip tightened for a moment; he could feel the seams under his hand, they would open, with the key he could feel pressing into his wrist. _Breathe._

"Careful," Drone Three said, from behind him. "You shouldn't touch that. After direct contact it'll remember you – and crave your flesh."

Loki yanked his hand out of the drawer so fast he cut himself, and began wiping frantically against his clothes. Then he saw that _the drawer was still partway open. _With his heart in his throat he slammed it and held it closed with both hands. He stayed there frozen. If he backed away in horror, which he wanted to do, then he would have to let go, and then it might-...

Laughter.

Drone Three was _laughing _at him, laughing hard, doubled up and laughing almost too hard to breathe. "Loki," he finally wheezed. "Really?" He couldn't stop.

Loki's mind caught up with him then and he relaxed so suddenly he almost fell over. Oh, hell: he _was _falling over. He put his hands on his knees and waited for the dizziness to pass.

"You all right?" Still through laughter.

"That is- sick," Loki gasped at last. He _thought _he was fine, but for some reason even as the terror drained out of him his lungs didn't want to inhale properly. "Your sense of humor is... is sick."

"Maybe. Funny, though." The Drone's chuckles were more controlled... but ongoing. "Did you imagine it was going to, to leap out at you and-?" He pantomimed with his hands, clap-clap-clapping his way through the air like a snapping beast.

_How dare you, _he wanted to say, _how dare you mock me for this. _But his voice wasn't yet under control and he did not want to speak in a hoarse raw mess, so he took a moment to gather himself. By the time he was able to fill his lungs and let it out slowly, he had calmed down enough that the urge to snarl had passed. Instead he just put his nose in the air and pointed out: "Fuck off; it's easy to laugh at when you've never felt that thing _ripping_ at your innards."

"I'm sure it is." Loki frowned, but before he could puzzle that out Three went on, with authority: "Now stop scowling; you only looked foolish for a moment. And it absolutely _is _funny."

Loki noticed that he was clinging to the drawer again, and let go of it with determination. … And then he waited a second to be sure that all was still and that the tool had not in fact come to life.

Well, now he had looked decidedly foolish for _two _moments. At that thought he had to smile – a little bitterly. "All right," he conceded, because it was true. "But don't do it again. You said you wouldn't terrify me." But when he thought more carefully he realized that the Drone had actually never said anything of the kind.

Fortunately Three didn't call him a liar. "I promise I won't terrify you _again,_" he purred instead. "Fair enough? Now, I found you a sticker stick. Are you ready to go?"

Loki nodded, and moved away from the counter with quite a bit of speed. The Drone deftly positioned himself at Loki's back, squarely between Loki and the imaginary sentient attacking pear, and steered him out of the room with a cool hand on his arm.

* * *

The End.

Let me know what you think! As of now I don't have any more ideas for this collection, except potentially a Sif/Helblindi date at some point down the line.


End file.
